


Not That Simple

by DaniJayNel



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon verse, F/F, Futanari, Oneshot, PWP, Smut, futa!Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3933760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniJayNel/pseuds/DaniJayNel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa has a tendency to keep her intimacy with Clarke at a low, but that only seems to fuel her unquenchable desire. Eventually she can't take it. Eventually she's no longer infuriated about war planning, but instead grasping at Clarke, consuming her, and in return, being consumed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That Simple

“It is _not_ that simple!” Lexa growled far too loudly than intended, her lips mere inches from Clarke’s. She clenched her teeth hard and forced herself to step away from Clarke, from her infuriating expression and the intoxicating heat seeping through her clothes. Her heart thumped loudly—in anger, in lust. She wanted very much to break something, but she decided instead on sending Clarke the angriest glare she could muster.

“Sure, look at me like that,” Clarke responded calmly. “But you know that I’m right Lexa. That’s what makes you so upset.”

Lexa stomped over to the war table and leaned over it, hands clenched into tight fists that were quickly draining of blood and turning white. She felt the sharp prick of her nails digging into her palms, but revelled in it. When the sensation failed to keep her interest for much longer, she instead trained her eyes on the map in front of her. She ground her teeth together.

“There is no other way!”

“There is and you know it.” Clarke stepped forward this time. She entered Lexa’s personal space, as if it hadn’t even existed—and really, neither of them seemed to know what ‘personal space’ even meant when they argued or simply spoke. “Is this really about the strategy, or is it simply that you don’t want to take my advice?”

Lexa whipped around, startling Clarke enough that she took a step back. “No, Clarke,” Lexa rolled out in a snarl. “I will listen when you make sense.” She flicked her eyes down to Clarke’s full lips, to the downward curl there, and then back up to her stormy blue eyes. “Nou taim den,” she ended in Trigedasleng.

Clarke furrowed her brow for a moment, obviously trying to translate the short phrase. Lexa took great satisfaction in that Clarke had no clue what she had said. “Lexa, listen to me,” Clarke began. She reached out to grab Lexa by the shoulder, but her touch elicited an unexpected growl that had Lexa suddenly on her, hands roughly cupping her face.

“Shof op, Klark,” Lexa husked.

A noticeable shudder passed through Clarke’s body. She lifted her hands to cover Lexa’s, eyes boring up into the Commander’s. Her eyes flicked down, her lungs felt constricted. Lexa was always so magnificent when infuriated. Like a beautiful storm, twisting and coiling with rage, ready to be unleashed with the slightest provocation. In contrast, a weak flash of insecurity lit up her eyes, there and gone before it could be analysed. The storm covered it quickly, roaring to life and declaring that no insecurity existed.

Clarke realized that this had never been about their political planning, their war plans and strategies to dodge or eliminate the Ice Nation. This had been about Lexa—about her need and her want. Clarke let her tense muscles relax, let her firm grip soften into a gentle clasp. Hesitantly she inched forward, causing Lexa to hastily drop her hands, eyes flicking away in uncertainty.

“Don’t,” she uttered softly. She reached out, grabbed Lexa by the front of her shirt, gently. “Don’t turn away.”

Lexa’s gaze returned. The anger was there, sharp and painful, but the roughness to her frown had eased, the furrow in her brows gone. She softened so very slightly that anyone but Clarke would not have noticed, and then she bowed forward, capturing Clarke’s waiting lips, whimpering slightly when her fingers ran through silky blonde hair and Clarke leaned into her, pressing them flush together. Clarke released a short sigh, content and enraptured. Lexa wanted to consume her being, make her scream and writhe and cry out in ecstasy.

An incredible wash of heat passed through her, and before Lexa realized what she was doing, she lifted Clarke with hands clutching at the back of her thighs, and then slammed her into the nearest solid object—one of the beams holding the tent up. Clarke groaned, wrapped her legs around Lexa, pulled hungrily at her lips.

“If you want me,” she panted out, “then just take me. Don’t play around politics, Lexa.”

“Clarke,” Lexa groaned, far too gone to hear her words clearly. She didn’t care for them anyway, for all she could understand was Clarke’s taste, her heat and scent and the feel of her body moving, shifting, twisting. Her body responded to the mood much too quickly, blood and heat rushing downwards until she was throbbing and aching. Lexa cursed herself for always holding back so long, for always desiring Clarke every waking moment, resisting every time, only to be reduced to this mess when her control finally snapped.

It was not slow, and it was not gentle. With the ease and grace of a seasoned warrior, accustomed to speed and precision, Lexa entered Clarke before the blonde could even stop to catch her breath—ripping fabric only where she needed to gain access most. Lexa’s hips jerked once as she eased inside, slowly this time, not as hasty as her entrance, because she did not want to hurt Clarke in any way, even if the blonde was moving against her, making Lexa want to simply thrust forward and be done with it.

They were hot and sweating. Lexa barely felt the burn in her muscles as she held Clarke up and as the blonde dug blunt nails into the back of her neck. Clarke used her grip to pull Lexa’s face to her own, kissing her passionately, slipping her tongue between the Commander’s soft lips. Lexa melted into the touch, stilled for the briefest of moments to enjoy the feel of Clarke’s tongue sliding against her own, caressing and exploring. Hers eventually joined, attempting its usual dominance, before she began to thrust her hips in time to their heartbeats—rapid and hard.

Lexa grunted and Clarke moaned. The blonde’s legs tightened painfully around Lexa’s waist, pulling the brunette in even harder, making each thrust _that_ much better. It was exquisite and it was wild, and Lexa could hardly think due to the heat and wetness wrapped around her. She loved filling Clarke like this, becoming one, being engulfed by her. In turn she loved the sense of being owned by Clarke, when the blonde’s inner walls fluttered around her, squeezed down on her, not wanting to let her go.

But eventually she did, lips leaving Clarke’s so that she could release a short cry, head falling forward as she spasmed and came with rapid, powerful spurts. Clarke didn’t come with her, but she very nearly did at the sensation of Lexa’s release inside of her, warming her inside, bathing her with everything the Commander had to give—well not _everything._

Lexa used the very last of her strength to stumble backwards towards her bed. She collapsed on it, with Clarke still on her lap, still hilt deep and shuddering. “You did not release,” the brunette husked out softly, shakily. She reached out and sought Clarke’s hand. They met gazes, Clarke’s pupils dilating, the blue in her irises darkening into a dangerous storm of want. Lexa knew that look. She would die for that look. And she promptly hardened to the point of pain at that look, and suddenly she needed to come again, needed movement and delicious friction. She grabbed onto Clarke’s hips, traced circles there with her thumbs, and swallowed.

“Ride me, Clarke.”

Clarke did.

**Author's Note:**

> *fans face* Anyone else need a cold shower? Yeah? I know right. 
> 
> Nou taim den - Not until then


End file.
